


With Our Arms Around Each Other

by magicalcryptic



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Accidental Domesticity, Canon Compliant, Dancing, Dancing Lessons, F/M, Falling In Love, Family, Family Fluff, Fluff, Forgiveness, Hurt/Comfort, I know nothing of dance and this was a pain to write, Imelda and Hector are soulmates fight me, Light Angst, Love, Memories, Music, Post-Canon, Romance, The entire family tries to get them together again, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-16 19:24:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16501286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicalcryptic/pseuds/magicalcryptic
Summary: Imelda started swaying from side to side, stepping slightly.  She took Hector’s hands and moved them to her lower back.  “Hold me,”  she whispered, and Dios, Hector could never say no to her.Victoria wants to learn how to dance.It's only been a two weeks since Dias de Muertos, and Hector is still so weak from almost being forgotten.  Imelda steps in to help, and Hector and Imelda are confronted with their feelings once more after so long.





	With Our Arms Around Each Other

**Author's Note:**

> title based on "Shall we Dance" from The King and I

 

“Teach me how to dance”

 

Hector blinked, looking up from the guitar he was tuning to find Victoria, looking down at him, arms crossed and lips pursed, almost a spitting image of a cross Imelda. She looked somewhat uneasy.

 

“ _Perdon, mija_?” asked Hector, not sure if he’d heard right.    
  


“Teach me to dance, _por favor_ ,” repeated Victoria, the please tacked on the end as though it was an afterthought. Her stance reminded Hector of an frightened animal, both aggressive yet willing to flee at the drop of a hat.

 

“Of course,” said Hector softly, soothingly, and instantly Victoria's shoulders relaxed. He didn't ask why, he sort of suspected that if questioned, she would turn red-faced, scoff, say something dismissive and quickly stalk away. It was something Imelda had always done when she was embarrassed, and he often used this to tease her, pushing her to the limit until she was angrily trying to pull away from him as he lightly held onto her wrist or her hips or her cheek, laughing brightly until she gave into his affections, blushing wildly.

 

He stood, somewhat achingly as his repairing bones fought against him. It had only been about a week and a half since he’d woken up from almost being forgotten, and his body was still mending.  Victoria looked panicked, and rushed to push him back down into his seat.  
  


“ _Papa Hector,_ please don't stand,” she admonished.

 

“Then how will I teach you?” Hector shot back, resisting.  
  


“You meant now?” squeaked Victoria, pushing down harder on his shoulders.  
  


“You didn't?”  
  


“ _Ay Papa_ , rest first,” said Victoria warily.  
  


Giving in to his granddaughter’s order, Hector sank into the cushions of the armchair.  It was comfier anyways. “Well then, when were you planning on learning?” he asked, curiously.  
  


Victoria's lips pursed further. She looked as though she was carefully trying to pick her words. “Before Saturday, at the latest,”  
  


If Hector had eyebrows, they would have raised into his hairline. “ _Oy, Chiquita_ , you ever danced before?”  
  


Victoria, nonplussed, shook her head.  
  


Hector lowered his head and let out a deep sigh. “And you expect to learn how to dance in less than a week?”  
  


Victoria looked a little sheepish, if that's what that eyebrow twitch meant. “I'm a fast learner,” she deadpanned.  
  


“I bet,” Hector huffed.  “I think you’re overestimating yourself here, _mija._  I have no idea if I’ll be able to move properly by next Saturday,”  
  


Victoria bit her lip and looked to the side.  “Perhaps,” she said, dejected. “Let’s forget about it then,”  
  


“Woah woah woah woah woah,” said Hector, backtracking.  “So you’ll just give up then?”  
  


Victoria narrowed her eyes.  “Well then, what would you have me do?”  
  


“Anything but quit.  So you’re fast to learn and even faster to drop it, huh?”  
  


Annoyed, Victoria put her hands on her hips and pivoted to the side, avoiding looking at her grandfather all together.  Hector was struck by how much of an Imelda action that was.  
  


“I don’t know.  I have no idea what I’m doing,”  she spat out, face red.  
  


“Hey hey hey, it’s okay.  Everybody’s gotta start somewhere, yeah?  We’re just a little short on time, that’s all,”  Hector said soothingly.  
  


Victoria’s arms slowly slid from her hips and to her sides.  “Alright,” she said hesitantly.  
  


“First, we have to find you a partner.  How about Julio? He could probably dance somewhat before marrying Coco.”  
  


Victoria had to smile at that.  “I dunno, Papa has always seemed just a bit clumsy.  I’ve never actually seen him dance,”  
  


“Hey, clumsy’s got nothing to do with it _mija_ , I was as clumsy as they come and I was the master of the dance floor,”  joked Hector, giving Victoria a crooked grin.  
  


Victoria laughed a little bit, exhaling a little puff from her nose.  “Still, he’s sort of on the short side,” she said wryly.  
  


“True.  And you’re like a freaking beanpole,”  He said. “How tall’s your partner?”  
  


Victoria’s face fell back into it’s carefully placed position, not giving away the slightest hint of emotion.  Which, of course, was a give-away in its own right. “They’re about the same height,” she said carefully.  
  


Hector didn’t comment on Victoria’s reaction, nor did he push for more information.  He was willing to take what she gave him. “Julio’s out, then” He sighed. “I would ask Oscar or Felippe, but I know for a fact that they both each have a pair of left feet,”  
  


“Really?”  said Victoria, surprised.  
  


“Mhm.  Or maybe, Oscar took all the left feet and Felippe took the right feet.  All switched up together,” Hector pondered.  
  


“I never would’ve guessed,”  
  


Hector nodded.  “Oh yes, at our wedding they danced well enough when by themselves.  Dancing with another person though, they would always stumble about. It was actually sort of funny to watch,”  
  


Victoria tilted her head thoughtfully.  “I wish I could’ve seen it,”  
  


“Ah, there’ll probably be lots of opportunities to see it for yourself,” said Hector absentmindedly, then immediately clamped shut.    
  


The music ban, ever since Día de Muertos, was an elephant in the room.  It wasn’t explicitly lifted yet, but at the same time it wasn’t banned anymore, leaving the family in a limbo.  Sure, Imelda sang and danced and smiled and laughed and _performed_ and _smiled_ and _laughed_ and _danced_ , but the ban was never quite….lifted.  Sure, she no longer snapped and scowled when Rosita hummed or Julio tapped his foot, but her face did fall into a carefully constructed mask whenever it happened.  
  


It was especially present whenever Hector betrayed the silence of the room.    
  


The man, after abandoning music for so long in the Land of the Dead, fell back into music as easily as one fell into bed, or put on a familiar coat. Hector was never around for the music ban, so he was less heedful with his melodies and his songs.  He never _performed_ , god forbid, but whenever he sang something, more of a whisper of a tune, something barely louder than a murmur, there was a tenseness to the room.    
  


Imelda was always tense whenever Hector was in the room, and she would downright _freeze_ whenever he accidently did anything musical.  It made him self-conscious, it made him hide his music away, only daring to pluck a tune when she was away.  If she would just...if she would just tell Hector what was allowed, if she told him what she wanted, he would do it.  If she wanted him to give up music, to never touch a guitar again, he would obey. If she told him he was allowed to play, he wouldn’t squirrel his music away.  If she would only just say what she wanted.  
  


This wasn’t the woman who twirled with such grace at the Sunrise Spectacular, and leapt into his arms without hesitation, high on adrenaline.  This wasn’t the woman who charmed an entire audience with her voice, who accidentally called him the “Love of her Life,” without a second thought, who had held him close as the shudders of the Final Death shook though him, and who had silently sat by his bedside until he woke up a week later, bone tired and aching everywhere.  
  


This wasn’t an Imelda he was familiar with.  This wasn’t an Imelda who banned music either.  
  


This was someone entirely new, someone nobody had quite met yet.  
  


And Hector wanted to meet her.  God, he was so ready to familiarize himself with her again.  He knew it wouldn’t be the same, they could never return to 1918, but maybe they could go somewhere else instead, together, and hopefully hand in hand.  
  


A romance wasn’t entirely off the table, he thought.  But Imelda was withholding herself, she was hiding herself away.    
  


And Hector, as ready as he was to embrace her again, was also willing to let her decide for herself what she wanted.  He would be patient, he wouldn’t push her and hound her like he’d done in his youth, in his life. He would sit to the sit and wait.  
  


And if at the end of it all, Imelda decided to turn him away once again, Hector would leave.  By God it would be hard, but he he would rather leave than hurt her again.  
  


“Hopefully,”  Victoria said softly after a long silence.  “Hopefully, I’ll get to see it,” she repeated, a slight smile on her face.    
  


Hector had to smile at her shy, hopeful expression.  “You will,” he said. An empty promise, but what else did the man have?  
  


Hector coughed awkwardly.  “Um, what about _Tia_ Rosita?” he asked, trying to steer the conversation back on track.  
  


Victoria’s expression immediately soured.  “I’d rather not,” she said stiffly.  
  


Hector cocked up an eyebrow.  “Oh?”  
  


Victoria looked askance.  “She would be a little… too prying,”  
  


Hector nodded.  Rosita could be overbearing at times, especially considering her _sobrina_.  Overly Romantic, he could feel her piercing gaze whenever he and Imelda were in the same room, deliberately not looking at each other.    
  


Hector suspected that Victoria wanted to do this with the utmost secrecy.  
  


“Alright, _mija_ ,”  He said, not pushing it, and she immediately looked grateful.  Delicacy was important in this situation.  
  


Hector, having run out of Riveras to consider, quickly ran through a list of dead people he knew personally that he could ask to spend their time in the Rivera living room for a week.  
  


“I mean, I could ask some people down in Shantytow-”  
  


“No! I mean, no, no no no thank you,”  Victoria sputtered, tripping over her own words.  
  


Hector cocked his head in confusion.  Victoria wasn’t scared of Shantytown, nor did she seem prejudiced against the almost-forgotten.  Hell, she went down there a few times a week with Rosita, he’d learned after he awoke that they had first gone down to gather his things.  At least, that’s how it started. Now they went down for the company and to give what they could, especially shoes. He’d learned that they’ve made shoes for nearly half the people down there, and they were steadily making more, free of charge.

 

Suddenly, he put two and two together, and couldn’t help a wry smile.  “Are you sure? Because I could easily ask-”  
  


“No, por favor Papa Hector, don’t bother those poor people,”  Victoria chided and Hector dropped it.  
  


Hector ran a skeletal hand over his face in exasperation.  “I guess we’ll have to do without a partner, then,” He said, defeated at having run through all the options.  “It’ll be a little...difficult,”  
  


“I’ll make do,” said Victoria, satisfied at having finally made some progress.  
  


“Good.  Now, go grab a broom from the closet,”  said Hector.  
  


Victoria left and soon returned with a broom in hand.  “Now what?”  
  


“Hold on, do we have a phonograph or a radio or something anywhere?” asked Hector.  Unsurprisingly, Victoria shook her head. “I don’t know why I even asked,” he grumbles.  “No bother, I’ll be the radio for tonight. Do you know what kind of music they’ll be playing?”  
  


Victoria shrugs.  “Sort of like, stuff you played I guess? I honestly have no idea, but I think it’s...mariachi style?”  
  


“Okay… I can work with that,”  said Hector thoughtfully. “It’ll probably be less older styles and more modern stuff, yes?”  
  


“Actually,” said Victoria, adjusting her glass, “I think it’ll be lots of both too,”  
  


Hector nodded.  “Okay then. I’ll teach you the basics of the basics then, stuff you can do for both.  Luckily, your partner will probably be understanding and take the lead,”  
  


“Luckily,” Victoria parroted.  
  


Hector raised up this guitar and picked a few experimental notes.  “Alrighty, now hold the broom up and pretend it’s a partner,”  
  


Victoria held out the broom, offering it a small curtsey.  “ _Señor_ ,” she greeted.  
  


Hector laughed.  “Okay, okay. Now, pretend the the top of the broom is the shoulder, and raise your hand like your partner is holding it,”  
  


Victoria looked a little confused at Hector’s directions, but managed to arrange herself in that position and only dropped the broom once.  
  


Hector strummed his guitar in a fast little diddy, and Victoria looked really daunted really fast.  Immediately, he slowed down to a gentler pace. “So, you’re going to want to step with the beat,” He first explained, letting his fingers fall into a ¾ pace.  “Say it with me _mija_ , Chun-ta-ta, Chun-ta-ta,”  
  


Confused, but ultimately determined, Victoria moved side to side, feet stepping uneasily and uncertainty.  
  


“No no no, to the beat! Try stepping backwards on the ‘Chun’,” Hector tried explaining.  
  


“I have no idea what I’m doing,” huffed Victoria, frustrated.  
  


“Me neither,” signed Hector as he stopped his strumming degetectly.    
  


“That makes three of us,”  
  


The two turned around to find Imelda, standing on the stairs, arms crossed and a looking stern, though a flicker of amusement ran over her face.  Victoria immediately dropped the broom, letting it clatter down to the floor. Hector wanted to hide his guitar, but honestly, if Imelda had seen it already then what’s the point?  
  


“ _Mama_ Imelda,”  greeted Victoria, and clasped her hands behind her back nervously.  
  


“What in the world are you two doing?”  asked Imelda.  
  


Victoria looked nervously to her _Abuelo_.  He shrugged.  Taking a deep breath, she turned to face Imelda again.  “U-um, he was teaching me…”  
  


“I was teaching her to dance,”  said Hector, giving his wife a nervous smile.    
  


Imelda looked dumbfounded.   “That was your attempt at teaching?   _Ay, idiota,_ that was pitiful,”  
  


Hector frowned, poutily.  “Hey, it’s harder when you can’t stand,”  he muttered looked down at his guitar.  
  


Snorting, Imelda quickly descended the stairs and into the living room.  “First, we’ve got to push these couches out of the way. We’re going to be moving alot,”  
  


Hector and Victoria gave each a look of surprise, before Victoria lept to Imelda’s help, pushing the furniture back.  
  


Once the two woman had cleared a space, Imelda stood up and brushed the dust off of her hands.   “Okay, what are we starting off with?”  
  


Hector quirked up an eyebrow but said nothing.  Victoria, on the other hand, couldn't help letting her jaw drop, not unlike how it at Imelda’s performance of La Llorona.  
  


“W-what?  You’re going to teach me too?” she squeaked.  Imelda turned to her, arms crossed and eyes narrowed.  
  


“ _Si_ , cause he,” she dictated, jerking her thumb towards Hector, “has always been a very poor teacher, and it looks like he’s only gotten worse over time,”  
  


“Okay, first off, I can’t stand.  Secondly, I taught you and you dance beautifully, _mi vida,_ so you try telling me I can’t teach, _de loca_ ,”  Hector shot back, huffily.  
  


Imelda rolled her eyes, face flushing a little.  “It took you nearly two months to teach me something useful. That’s how bad of a teacher you were,”  Imelda deadpanned.  
  


Victoria paled.  “Two months? I only have a week!”  
  


“Then you’re lucky I’m here,” said Imelda with a self assured smirk.  Hector moaned dramatically, sinking back into his chair and slapping his forehead dramatically.  Neither woman paid him any attention.  
  


“So, what are we starting with?”  asked Imelda again, her words a little more forceful and authoritative, each word carrying a small punch of its own.  
  


“I was thinking foot movements?” said Hector, though it was more of a question than an answer, especially under Imelda’s piercing stare.  
  


Imelda gave Hector an odd, indecipherable look.  She then leaned down and picked up the broom, tossing it away.  “Then why bother with the broom if you were going to start with feet?”  
  


Hector blanked, and could only find himself offering a shrug and a crooked smile.  Imelda sighed, lips twitching slightly.  
  


“Okay _mariachi_ , play something fast, 4/4 time,” she ordered.  Hector compiled, and Imelda stood beside her Granddaughter.   “Alright Victoria, look down at my feet and copy my movements.  When you’re not dancing by yourself, your arms should not be stiff, because you’ll look and feel awkward.  Move them in circular motions, like this,” Imelda demonstrated.  
  


Hector watched as Victoria hesitantly copied Imelda and how already she looked more at home within the rhythm.  “See how when you step, it’s in time to my music?” Hector called out. Victoria nodded, cheeks tinted pink with satisfaction.  
  


Imelda eventually steps out and lets Victoria move on her own.  “Good, Good, nice work,” praised Imelda. She then turned to Hector.  “Now move to ¾,”  
  


Hector adjusted his strumming, easily slipping into the different time signature.  Imelda clapped aloud to every beat, emphasising when the feet should move. It took Victoria a good half a minute before she adjusted to the beat, stepping back and forth on the downbeat of the tune.  “Good job _mija_ , now try moving side to side,”  
  


Victoria adjusted rather quickly, much faster than switching tempos. “ _Que Padre,_ Victoria!” crooned Hector, and Victoria couldn’t help but offer him a skeletal grin, almost as charmingly crooked as his own.  
  


They continued on that way for a while, Victoria following both Imelda’s clear instructions and Hector’s spirited suggestions.  Eventually, Victoria caught a cramp in her side and had to sit down on the seat next to Hector’s, breathless. Imelda also sat down, on the foot rest for Hector’s arm chair.  Reaching over his own seat, Hector smiled at Victoria and took her hand supportively.  
  


“Amazing job, _mija_.  You’re a natural,” he said.  
  


Victoria offered him a tired, but elated smile.  “ _Gracias, Papa Hector_ ,”  she said softly.  He gently squeezed her hand, and neither one of them noticed Imelda looking away with a soft, pained smile of her own.  
  


Victoria sighed and settled into her seat on the couch.  “That’s quite a workout,” she said. “My feet hurt so bad,” she complained, yanking off her shoes, which were quite stiff, and pinched at the toes.  
  


Hector eyed them and tsked.  “ _Ay_ , no wonder your feet hurt.  You’ll need some dancing shoes.  She’ll need some dancing shoes, Imelda,”  He said, turning to his wife, who’s expression had clouded over.   She looked troubled, and immediately Hector sat up in his chair, leaning forwards towards her.  “What’s wrong, _mi corazon_?”  
  


“Nothing,”  snapped Imelda, standing suddenly.  She turned to glare at Hector, but her face immediately softened when she saw the genuine concern in her eyes.  “Nothing at all, _querido_.  I suppose I’ll have to get started on those-um, those dance shoes,”  she said absentmindedly, and then she quickly stepped out of the room.  
  


Hector blushed at the pet name, but felt a curious pit in his stomach as he watch Imelda leave.  He settled back into his chair and turned to Victoria, who looked grim, but not as grim as she looked when she first asked for Hector’s help, or when Imelda had caught the two of them.  
  


“Why did she-”  
  


“We never made dancing shoes,”  said Victoria suddenly, cutting him off.  She then looked thoughtful, and corrected herself.  “No, I guess we used to, but Imelda stopped making them a long time ago, even before either Elena or I were born,”  she confessed. She said it all really fast, as though she was dying to get it off of her chest, the words whooshing out of her all at once.

 

Hector looked surprised.  “I guess I sort of assumed you made all sorts of shoes,”

 

“Never dancing shoes,” said Victoria.  She looked contemplative, one hand tucked under her elbow, the other resting on her cheek, her pointer finger tapping thoughtfully at her temple.   “I think she stopped after she caught Mama dancing at the Plaza when she was young,”  
  


Hector sat up at that, thoroughly surprised.  “Coco used to dance?” he said with an awestruck smile.  
  


Victoria smiled at Hector’s smile.  “Si, she used to sneak away to the Plaza and dance, apparently.  I don’t know too much about it, but I do know that’s how _Mama y Papa_ met,”  she said wistfully.  
  


Hector smiled, though some of it was forced at the mention of Julio.  Which he felt immediately felt guilty about. Julio was a very nice man.  No, he was a very understanding, very compassionate man. He didn’t turn Hector away, despite only knowing him through second hand stories about his mistakes.  He always told Hector was Coco was like in life, and Hector didn’t even have to ask him. He seemed completely, and irrevocably in love with his sweet Coco.

 

No, Hector didn’t hold any resentment towards Julio.  He resented that he wasn’t a part of Coco’s life, that he couldn’t walk her down the aisle and be there for his grandchildren’s births.  That he couldn’t have watched her dance in the Plaza, that she even had to sneak away at all in order to be around music.  
  


But...it was all Hector’s fault, in the end.  He never should have left, never should have chosen music over his family.  Whether he left for fame, or for money, or to find some more inspiration, he didn’t even remember.  That was the tragic part of it, he couldn’t even remember the deeper meaning of why he left, only remembering that it was for music and that he never came back.  
  


The _shame_ he felt, running through his bones.  
  


He looked down at his hands, guiltily.  “So, she liked to dance?” he asked.  
  


Victoria nodded.  “Oh, she loved it.  She did the more traditional dance too, with the big flowing dressed and the choreographed steps.  She always seemed so happy when she danced.”  
  


Hector smiled.  At least his daughter didn’t hate music, even after it had torn apart her family.  
  


Suddenly, a terrible, all too familiar thought ran through his head.  Oh god, what if Coco hated him? What if she despised him after his disappearance?  It was a thought he had often enough, especially when sitting alone in his shack by the water in Shantytown, especially on Dia de Muertos when he could never ever cross the bridge, not once since his death.    
  


It wasn’t too far of a stretch to think, considering how Imelda had reacted to him when he first went to greet her after her death.  The upset look on her face, mixed with anger and hatred and frustration.  
  


He was so ashamed, he didn’t dare try to face her again after that.

 

Hector forced himself to calm down, focusing on the materials of his armchair, the feeling the guitar wood under his fingers.  Coco couldn’t hate him. After all, he was still here, so obviously Coco hadn’t purposefully chosen to maliciously forget him. He was getting stronger by the day, held together more solidly than he’d ever been before, the memories holding him together and tethering him to the Land of the Dead.  And even if she had hated him, Miguel would explain. Yes, Miguel would try his hardest to get his family to accept both Hector and music back into their lives.  
  


“That’s good,”  Hector squeaked out.  Victoria nodded.  
  


“Yes.  But then she got hurt, and then she stopped,”  said Victoria sadly.  
  


“Got hurt?” asked Hector in a panicked tone of voice.  “How?”  
  


“She twisted her ankle, I think,”  Victoria said quietly. “I remember seeing it, she just sort of crumpled down.   _Dios Mios_ , I was so afraid then,” she continued.  She then grew silent. “She probably quit because of Elena and I, at how we reacted at seeing her hurt because of music,” she confessed.  A troubled look appeared on her face.  
  


Hector leaned forward again, squeezing her hand gently again.  “Hey, don’t worry about it, mija. Besides, look at you now!” He smiled, gesturing at all of her.  “You’re dancing now! And so beautifully too, _muy linda_ ,”  
  


Victoria flushed under the praise.  “I suppose I am dancing now. I was always a little wary of it, but now that I’m doing it, it’s fun.  Tiring, yes, but fun. No wonder Mama loved it,”  
  


Hector smiled gently.  “No wonder,” he echoed.  Then he stretched, exaggeratingly.  “Oof, I don’t know about you mija, but I’m beat.  Help an old man back to his bed?” He said with a smile.  
  


Victoria gave him a look.   “You’ll just have to come back down for supper,” she warned.  
  


Hector shrugged.  “I think I just need some time to myself right now.  We can continue our dancing tomorrow, we’ve done great today,”  
  


Victoria nodded, and stood.  She held out an arm to Hector, which he grabbed, and she used her other hand to grab his guitar.  Shifting his weight to her shoulders, she helped him to the bottom stairs, Hector hopping slightly as he was pulled along.  She then placed his hand on the banister. “Here, let me go grab your cane,” she said, and she ran up the stairs, guitar in hand.

 

Hector stood at the bottom of the stairs, whistling as he waited for Victoria to come back down.  He waited for quite a while, and she hadn’t returned in about five minutes.

 

Suddenly, he realized something.  His cane wasn’t in his room; he’d left it in the shoe workshop earlier that day, when he was watching the twins work on the orders they had.  
  


“Victoria?”  He called up the stairs, but she did not reply.  He was starting to feel shake on his legs, and he cursed himself and his thoughtlessness.  Well, nowhere to go but up, right? Very slowly, he raised his one foot up and onto the first step.  With great effort, he pulled himself up.

 

Okay, that was one.  Now only...twelve more to go?  Ten? Hector had no idea how many steps there were, and he found himself immensely grateful to the bannister.  Well, now for step number tw-

 

“What are you doing?” snapped a voice from behind him.  He turned and found Imelda standing closely behind him, one hand on her hip and the other one holding onto a very familiar cane shaped cane.  
  


He looked at her, then looked up the stairs.  “Um...going to my room?” He said with a slight laugh.    
  


It felt weird, calling it his room, and he realises it at soon as he sees the reaction on Imelda’s face.  It was subtle, but obvious to Hector, who’s incredibly familiar with Imelda’s slight facial changes that reveal a secret emotion.  
  


It wasn’t Hector’s room.  It was a guest room that was always prepared for visitors, or if, by chance, god forbid, that they suddenly find themselves with another addition to the family from the Land of the Living.  Hector supposed that that’s all he was at the moment- A guest, who’s stay was as temporary as his room’s ownership.  
  


“Going to the guest room,” He corrected quickly, and Imelda’s face quickly became undecipherable to Hector.  
  


Her eyes narrowed.  “By yourself?”  
  


Hector shrugged.  “Victoria went up to find my cane, but then never came back?” He replied.

 

Imelda held out the cane.  “You left it in the workshop.  I thought I’d bring it to you,”  she said, looking down to the floor, face flushed pink.  
  


Hector took the cane, grateful.  “Thanks,” he said, smiling softly.  
  


Imelda looked upstairs.  “Hm, I wonder what she’s doing?”  she muttered. A moment passed between the two,  Imelda deliberately not looking at Hector while he took the moment to study her face committing it to memory.    
  


Then, Imela held out her arm.  “Come, I’ll help you up,” she said stiffly.  Hector looked at his beautiful wife, and felt nothing but love as he reached out and gently wrap his arm between her, unsure.  Then, she pulled Hector closer, strengthening her hold on him, and his heart fluttered in his chest. “Come on, do you want to fall down the stairs?  Hold on tighter,” she grumbled.  
  


Slowly, Imelda and Hector made their way up the stairs.  Whenever Hectors legs would wobble, Imelda would tighten her grip and pull Hector closer.  He almost fell on the seventh step, but Imelda planted her feet in a strong stance and pulled up his full weight.

 

Once they reached the top, Imelda slipped out of Hector’s hold, the absence of her weight and her warmth starkly obvious.  He placed his cane on the floor and settled his weight onto it. “Oof,” he said, choking out a laugh, trying to play off the fact that his legs were shaking and his forehead was covered with a thin layer of sweat.  
  


“You’ve already come a long way,” said Imelda, her voice hold a hint of pride.  “Just yesterday you could barely stand. I bet you’ll be bouncing about again come Saturday,”  
  


Hector grinned.  “Hopefully,” he said.  
  


Imelda coughed and looked away.  “I’ll come get you again when dinner’s ready,”  she said.  
  


Hector nodded and stumbled to his room as Imelda headed back downstairs.

 

When he reached his room, he found Victoria sitting on the floor with an open box of photographs, the contents spilled on the floor as she hurriedly tried to stuff the contents back into the box.  She looked up as soon as he entered, and her face immediately turns red.

 

“ _Lo siento_ , Papa Hector,”  she mutters, embarrassed.  “I’ve made a mess of your room,”  
  


“Don’t worry about it,”  he said absentmindedly, looking at the pictures on the ground.  “What’s all this?”  
  


“Photographs.  Baby pictures and stuff.  Elena always puts old picture books on the ofrenda, and I guess Mama Imelda collected them and stored them under the bed,”  Victoria explained. “Don’t worry, I’ll put them away,”

 

“No no,”  Hector found himself saying.  He hobbled over to the bed and sat down on the edge.  “Leave them, por favor. I want to…” he trailed off, an unexplainable pit in his throat plugging the words in his chest, which swelled with an strange, but not unfamiliar emotion.  
  


Victoria nodded, and scooped up the last of the images, less frantic this time.  She then placed the book on the bedside table, and walked to the door. “Rest easy _Abuelito_ ,”  she whispered, and then left the room, leaving Hector to the pictures.

 

Settling himself against the headrest of the bed, he took out the box and starting going through photos.  Most were very recent, and Hector was delighted to find some photos of a young Miguel. He had very chubby cheeks as a child, much more chubbier than his current face, and his child like grin was missing a few teeth.  It was adorable.  
  


He flipped over the photo to check the date.  It was taken about 5 years ago, making the Miguel in the photo about seven.  Older than Coco was when he’d left.  
  


Hector swallowed and placed the photo aside,  He found some pictures of Rosa and Abel, the younger resting on the older’s lap as he glared at the camera, holding a picture book upside down.  He stared at that picture longer than Miguel’s, searching for any trait that would connect him to these kids.  
  


He thought Abel’s ears stuck out like his.  They weren’t nearly as big, perhaps a blessing in disguise.  He thought maybe Rosa’s cheekbones would eventually look like his...maybe.  It was hard to tell.

 

Hector sighed and put the photo down, defeated.  The truth was that if he had happened to pass them on the street, he wouldn’t look twice.  He didn’t feel a familial connection to them.  
  


He picked up another photo, this one of of an young girl, about Miguel’s age, holding a pair of shoes up proudly, while an older woman stands beside her, arm around her shoulder, with a pleased look on her face.  
  


It took a moment for Hector to recognize the woman as Imelda, but as soon as it clicked in his head, he can’t help but stare.  She looked older, her fiery eyes are enhanced by her crows feet, and her smile is aged by fine lines.  
  


He looked at the writing on the image.   _Elena’s first pair of shoes._  
  


He rubbed a skeletal thumb over the image.  So, this is what he’d missed out on. Hector felt that all too familiar lump in his throat.  Ah geez…

 

He carefully tucked the photo away under his pillow.   _For safe keeping_ , he told himself, but the explanation felt so fake to him.  That, that was a lie.

____________________________________________________________________________

 

Imelda Rivera considered herself a strong woman.  And many saw her as such, but every once in a while, she would feel a fleeting moment of weakness.  
  


The first time memorable moment of weakness she felt was when her mother died, when she was the tender age of six.  Her brothers, barely an hour old, wailed so loudly. Imelda felt helpless as she held them both, her mother offering her a grim smile before the light faded from her eyes.  
  


She had no foto on the o _frenda_.  
  


The next memorable moment of weakness was when Hector strummed in the plaza, alongside Ernesto, and her eyes met his and her knees buckled.

 

The worst moment of weakness was when she was laying in bed, and Hector traced her cheek softly and said, “ _Mi amor_ , I have to leave tonight.”  In her weakness, she reached and grabbed his shirt, a wordless request he didn’t heed.

 

She’d cried that night.  And she’d cry multiple nights afterwords, well after Hector’s departure.  
  


Imelda has had moments where she wasn’t as strong as she wanted to be, but she’d built up the image of a woman as tough as grits, so that her familia could depend on her in their moments of weakness.  
  


On that fateful _Dias de Muertos_ , Imelda had cried twice.  Once when Miguel had slipped from her grasp, her fears of his stay becoming permanent overcoming her for the briefest of moments.  Twice, when she’d held the fading Hector in her arms, who trembled and jerked with every flash of golden light.  
  


The first time was excusable, even expected.  The Second…

 

The Second time was a moment of weakness, that’s all.  A brief moment where she’d forgotten her position and slipped back into the role of the weeping wife who cried for a husband she’d long scorned.  La Llorona.

 

When Hector’s shudders had stopped and the glow of his bones slowly vanished, the tears turned from morning to pure happiness.  She remembered her shoulders shaking with her tearful relief, and holding him again after so long.  
  


Her familia gave her space, let her weep.  Then, they carried him to their home, where Imelda kept a watchful eye over him.  As soon as his eyes opened again, she gave him his space. And she’s been giving him space ever since.  And her family never betrayed her secret moment of weakness.  
  


She’d overcome weakness before, she’d expected to do it easily again.  After all, it wouldn’t be long until Hector grew restless again. She wasn’t enough to keep him home the first time, and now she’d changed too much.  She’d hardened, she’d aged, while he didn’t look a day over 25. He’d already left her in life, what made death any different?

 

But it was almost unbearable watching him interact with everyone.  He fit in so easily, like a missing piece to a puzzle you had always thought was complete.  He laughed along with the twins, like they’d done when they were young. He traded stories with Julio.  He joked with Rosita. He even tried to get Victoria to teach him to make shoes, a task he clearly wasn’t cut out for, but she had laughed so hard when he somehow attached the laces to the bottom of one shoe, and then accidentally launched it’s pair into the ceiling.

 

He even parented the family.  He scolded Victoria when she’d stay up late reading.  He’d watch _telenovelas_ with Rosita, laughing along with her and listening to her rants about anything and everything, including the silly gossip she loved to partake in.  He pretended to ruffled Julio’s non existent hair once, an action that had felt so natural to the both of them that they hadn’t thought anything was weird about until they caught Imelda’s horrified look.    
  


He fit the image of what Imelda had always pictured for her family.  She knew it would hurt, it would tear both her and her family apart when he grew tired of them.  
  


So she shut herself out.  Or she tried to.  
  


When she stumbled upon Hector’s pathetic attempt at teaching, she couldn’t help herself.  
  


Another moment of weakness.  
  


_Victoria needed to learn_ , she reasoned.   _Hector couldn’t stand.  Hector is a terrible teacher,_ she’d said.

 

 _I miss dancing.  I miss music. I miss Hector,_ she didn't say.

____________________________________________________________________________

  
  


When Imelda was 34, she’d caught her daughter dancing in the mariachi plaza, her twirling her skirts near a blushing mess of a boy, who struggled to keep up and she laughed gaily as she danced circles around him.

 

In her unbridled rage, she dragged her daughter home, and thought of that no good husband of hers for the first time in a long long time.  As she paced her room, she was struck with the sudden realization that she’d forgotten what he looked like. Hector’s face wasn’t familiar to her any longer.

 

She panicked and flew downstairs, an all too familiar feeling bubbling up in her chest.  She reached the certain dresser and yanked open the drawer where she stored her memories almost forgotten.  The ribbon she’d worn on her wedding day. Pressed flowers from her first date. A broken guitar string. Her ring.  Discarded buttons she’d always meant to reattach to his best dress shirt. The photograph.  
  


The photograph in question was haunting.  His face even more so. A charming half smile, his fingers looped lazily around the guitar she’d gifted him.  The suit, the suit that didn’t fit quite right, because he’d borrowed it from De La Cruz, because De La Cruz had spilled red wine on his best and Imelda could not remove it no matter how hard she’d scrubbed and cursed, nevermind if she was cursing the wine or the suit or the man.    
  


Hector’s face was haunting, yet comforting.  Achingly comforting. She thumbed his cheek, suddenly calm.  No anger, no fear. Peace. Then...pain.  
  


The pain was a feeling she was much too familiar with.  
  


Coco was fifteen now.  He’d left eleven years ago.    
  


Where was he now?    
  


It was a question that Imelda ignored late at night.  She ignored it because as curious as she was she didn’t want to know.  Was he in Mexico City with some starry eyed blond, who laughed at his jokes and clung to his arm, young and in love and foolish like Imelda had once been?  Was she beautiful? Was he rich? Was he poor? Was he happier? Did he miss her? Obviously not, but did he think of her? Did he remember he-  
  


A wretched sob escapes her chest and she slams the photo face down. She can feel the cold wetness on her cheek, and shame bubbles up inside her, the shame festering into a deep red blush that spread from her breast to her cheek to her ears, where they burned.  Weak, she hisses, she berated. Weak willed fool.  
  


_Yesterday I cried to see you, Llorona,_

 

_And Today I cried because I saw you._  
  


Imelda was tired of weakness.  With a certainty she did not know she possessed, she reached out and ripped off his face, like ripping off a bloody bandage of a wound that refused to heal.  It was factual, it was necessary, like amputating the infected leg of a fallen soldier. It was something that needed to be done, no matter how much it hurt.  
  


It didn’t hurt.  It was freeing. Or so she said.  
  


She let it fall from her fingers and twirl to the floor like an autumn leaf.  Never again would Imelda feel this weak, she would make sure of that herself.  
  


The next day, the ripped slip of the photograph had disappeared from the floor.  Imelda didn’t know where it had gone. _Good riddance_ _ **,**_ she thought.  Her heart twanged, her chest bubbled.   _Good riddance._  
  


She picked up the rest of the photograph.  It was such a lovely photograph, Imelda had dressed in her best, Coco’s hair was done in perfect little braids.   It...it would be a shame to let it go to waste.

 

She went out in town and bought frame.  It was a size too small, but waste not want not.  She simply folded it over and slipped it behind the glass.  She placed it where she wouldn’t need to see it too often, but easily found in case Imelda needed to be reminded of her strength.  
  


Or her weakness.  
  


______________________________________________________________________________

  
  


_Ten years later, his death is everywhere in the newspapers.  Mourners flocked to Santa Cecilia, and Victoria, barely a toddler, curled contently in her grandmother’s lap._  
  


_Over the sound of achingly familiar music echoing all around her, floating in through treacherous windows, Imelda searched her mind and could not find her husband’s face._

 

______________________________________________________________________________

  
  


The next day, Hector felt a lot stronger on his feet.  He still needed the cane, but he could take a few steps without resting any weight whatsoever on it.  He could even jump around a bit. However, he tired easily and needed to sit.  
  


Imelda watched him from her perch at the top of the stairs, as he tuned his guitar, humming softly.  Victoria, as she often did, sat on the ground with a book in her lap, waiting patiently. Victoria reminded Imelda of Pepita, the way she lounged about, making herself comfortable in any position as long as she was in the sun.  The position she had chosen was spread out on the carpet, her skirt folded underneath her legs, as she leant back against her grandfather’s legs.  
  


Imelda is thrown to a time when Victoria would do that to her as well.  Elena was always for touchier with her familia, always holding an arm or leaning on a shoulder or grabbing at anything.  Victoria was much more selective with her physical affections. Victoria often sat in between Imelda legs when she read as a child, the leaning against Imelda’s skirts as though it were a hammock.  
  


To see her do this to Hector....

 

Imelda made her presence known by noisily descending the stairs with heavy steps.  Victoria scrambled up, moving to stash her book away. Hector didn’t move at all, a soft smile spreading across his face.  
  


Clearing her throat, she offered them both a court nod.  “So, partner dancing today?” asked Imelda. Victoria hummed in agreement, a look of satisfaction settles in her cheeks.  Hector strummed a little diddy his guitar, and Imelda held out her hands, beckoning Victoria to come closer.  
  


“Now Victoria, don’t be frightened by Imelda’s glare.  Just pretend that it is me you are dancing with,” said Hector cheerily from where he sat, which caused Imelda’s glare to deepen.  
  


“Is that supposed to ease her nerves?”  she snarked.  
  


“Of course, _mi vida,_ ”  grinned Hector, with that gold toothed smile.  
  


“So I am supposed to be you, then?”

 

“If Victoria wishes to see it that way, then _si_ ”  
  


“Fine then.   _Oy, I’m Hector.  If you don’t know how to dance, that’s fine.  I’ll just be yanking you around like a ragdoll anyways,”_ said Imelda in a lower pitched voice and a goofy face.  
  


“Hey!”  protested Hector.  
  


“You said that I was you.  I’m just getting into character,”  said Imelda innocently, but her hand went to her popped hip in such a defiant and sassy way.  
  


“Well then, I’ll be you.   _Ay I’m Imelda.  Teach me to dance, Hector!  I promise I won’t step on all your toes!  Oops!”_ retorted Hector in a high pitched voice.  
  


“ _I’m Hector!  Don’t give me any attention, because then I’ll follow you around like a lost puppy!”_  
  


“ _I’m Imelda!  I’ll give you a kiss, but then I’ll ignore you in the marketplace,”_  
  


“I’m starting to get lost in this conversation,” admitted Victoria.  “Can we get onto the dancing already?”  
  


Two heads snap towards Victoria, both individuals suddenly brought back to the present.  Imelda flushed. “Alright, take my hands,” said Imelda impatiently.  
  


Victoria did, and Imelda tightened her grip on her hands.  “Remember how I told you yesterday to always be moving your hands?  Well, now we do just that, but this time you’re holding onto your partner's hands as well.  We’ll start with just the hands, so when we add the feet it’s easier.”  
  


Hector struck up a tune, and Imelda moved Victoria's hands in circles. “We go inwards, like you would if you were dancing on your own,”  she explained. After a few minutes of just the arms, Imelda slowly progressed into the steps, letting the music naturally move her legs.  Victoria mimics, and soon the two are stepping in time. Imelda, emboldened by their success, pulled Victoria closer. “We can either dance holding hands or holding each other.  When I danced, Hector would change so often between the two,”

 

“Do we move forward or backwards with our feet?”  asked Victoria in a brief moment of panic.

 

“Whichever way you feel.  Once we get better, we can even go around in circles with our feet,”  explained Imelda. “Let’s try side to side. One of your feet will cross over, and it doesn’t really matter if you do it infront or in back,”  
  


Imelda pulled Victoria into the new foot patterns with ease.  
  


“Okay, now I’ll show you how you follow a turn,”  she said. “You’re partner will raise your hand, and, his palm will be against yours, and then he will lead you into a spin,” she explained.   “Let’s try it,”  
  


Imelda took Victoria’s hand and slowly lifted it. She pulled her arm inwards, and Victoria slowly moves to spin.  But her elbow was a bit high, forcing her to lean backwards to duck under it.  
  


“I liked your speed,” said Imelda, “but try to keep your elbow down, so you have more control and you can move more freely,”

 

Imelda moved to spin Victoria again, and this time Victoria turned gracefully a bright smile on her face.  
  


Hector couldn’t help but pick up the music a bit more in his excitement.  Imelda pulled Victoria along at the new tempo, and soon Victoria was moving along to the music naturally, like she was born to do it.  
  


Hector finished his song with a flourish, and Imelda and Victoria pulled apart, laughing.  This was fun.  
  


“Let’s try _Zapateado_!” said Hector brightly, obviously high off of Victoria’s success.  Imelda pursed her lips, unsure.

 

“Zapateados is so fast, so tiring,” she said, shifting her weight from one foot to another, uneasily crossing her arms.  “I don’t know-”

 

“Oh, it’s all feet, Imelda,”  Hector said, waving her off. “We won’t do the crazy stuff anyways, that’d be _loco,”_ he laughed, wiggling his eyebrows.  Or where his eyebrows would’ve been if he had them still.  
  


His eyebrows in life were always so thick, so dark.  Imelda sort of missed them.  
  


Imelda sighed, relenting to Hector’s relentless badgering.  Something she had done so often in life. “Okay _mija_ , come here,”  she said, beckoning Victoria to come closer.   “It’s a lot of stomping, but first we’ll start out slow,”  
  


Victoria does, though her face is pale.  “What if I stomp on your feet?” she asked nervously.

 

“It’d be karma!” hooted Hector, “for all the times you stomped on mine!”  
  


Imelda rolled her eyes.   “Keep talking and I’ll re-introduce your toes to my heel, _gordito,_ ”  she said warningly.  She turns to Victoria.   “It’ll be fine. Just look down and copy my feet at first and you’ll get the hang of it”  she said.  
  


Imelda pulled Victoria closer and gave Hector a curt nod.  Suddenly, an all to familiar melody drafted into the air, and Hector starts to si-  
  


“Not that one,” she snaps, feeling much too exposed in front of the two.  “Anyone but that one,”  
  


Hector stopped, suddenly looking very uncertain.  “But it’s the perfect song for _zapateados,”_ he said softly.  “The _huapango_ makes it much easier, 6/8 _tiempo,”_  
  


“I know but…” Imelda trailed off, feeling small and stupid.  She looked down at her own feet. _It’s not like it means anything,_ she thought to herself.  A moment had passed before she nodded slightly, still looking anywhere but Hector..  “If there’s no other song to play,” she grumbled into her feet.  
  


The music picked up again, and this time, Hector was silently whispering the words to himself.  Imelda ignores him, though she admits to herself that it’s certainly much easier to dance to a song she knows by heart.  
  


_Tú me traes un poco loco, un poqui-ti-tito loco._

 

“Alright Victoria,”  she said. “If you find a song too fast you can split the beat into two, it’s easier to do that when you dance with another person,”  
  


“Okay, now we part, and now we stomp,”  warned Imelda as she gripped onto Victoria  “Now you copy my feet. _Mira,_   _f_ _uerte, y dos pequeños pasos, luego fuerte. Uno, dos dos, Uno, dos dos_ _.”_  
  


Imelda stomped and Victoria stomped alongside her, following along.  “Bueno,” she complemented. “Now, we can pull apart and dance at a distance.  The men usually put their arms behind their back like so,” Imelda folded her arms, “And the ladies usually grab onto their dresses and twirl them as they please,”  
  


Victoria’s face fell into a satisfied look of recognition.  “ _Mama_ used to dance like this,” she commented happily.  “Holding onto her dress. Hers was much longer, and had bright colours,”  
  


“I remember,”  said Imelda dryly.  “I remember when I caught her in the square with _tu papa_ when they were still children, too,”  
  


Victoria danced a little longer, spinning to the music, until she needed to sit down.  After sitting down, she yanked off her shoes and tossed them aside.

 

“Those shoes are still so terrible,” tsked Hector.  Then his face fell into panic and he tossed Imelda an apologetic look.  “ _Lo siento mi querido,_ They’re very well made.  I meant terrible for dancing,”  
  


“I know what you meant, _Tonto_ ,” Imelda huffed.  “I’m still working on some dancing shoes for Victoria,”  
  


“Dancing shoes?”  called a voice from the doorway.  Everybody turned to see Rosita standing there holding a wide array of bags from the marketplace., a wide smile on her face.  “Are we going dancing?”  
  


Victoria shot Hector a panicked look.  “Uh...maybe?” he answered, causing Victoria to rub her temples, frustrated.  
  


“It’s a dance this Saturday, _Tia_ Rosita,”  said Victoria, defeated.  
  


“Oh,  I thought I saw posters for that in the marketplace!  I guess we’ll all need dancing shoes!” tittered Rosita happily.  “I’ll lend you a hand Mama Imelda,” she offered.  
  


“ _Gracias,”_ said Imelda, thankful.  
  


“Oh it’s no problem.  I want a hand in making _mi sobrina_ ’s first pair of dancing shoes,”  she confessed. “Oh, speaking of music….uh...” she trailed off uncertainty.  

 

“Come on, spit it out,”  snapped Imelda.

 

Rosita reached into a bag and pulled out an old CD player.  Well, it was old by Land of the Living standards, but it compared to the old school technology in the Land of the Dead, one could consider it new.  It also had a built in radio, it’s long antenna sticking out awkwardly from the hulking machine. “I saw it and thought of _Papa Hector_ , and then I couldn’t resist buying it,”  she giggled.  
  


“ _Gracias_ Rosita _,_ ”  called Hector, giving her a thankful wave.

 

“I’ll leave it in the workshop,”  she said. “Then we can listen to music while we work!  I’m thinking of going out to buy some CDs later today. Any suggestions?”

 

Imelda snorted.  “Nothing by De La Cruz, _por favor._  Maybe some _boleros_? I always liked those, as well as folk songs”

 

The two women froze.  It was a shock to see Imelda so open about music, nevertheless admitting to _liking_ it.

 

Hector, though, sighed happily, lost in memory.  “You also liked _corridos,_ I remember.  So romantic, you were,”

 

Imelda flushed.  “Emphasis on _were_ ,” she huffed, and Hector’s face fell.

 

Suddenly, there was a tenseness to the room, a tenseness Imelda couldn’t stand.

 

She coughed, awkwardly.  “Well, I’m going to go work on those shoes,”  she mumbled awkwardly, making her way out of the room.

 

Imelda  hurried into the workshop, collapsing into her chair and starting at the mess of leather and nails in front of her.  Her workshop, her place of refuge in this house besides her room. Her workshop was always where she could put her troubles aside and bury herself into her work.  
  


Imelda, however, did not pick up her tools.  Instead, she sat there and did nothing.

 

The door creaked slightly, and Rosita entered, tip-toeing across the wooden floor.  Imelda paid no attention to her, keeping her head down and pretending to seem busy. In fact, the only reason why Imelda could tell it was Rosita was by the way she walked, the way the floor sounded beneath her feet.  Imelda could tell with all the family, everyone having a certain way they walked and a certain way they stepped.

 

Imelda could tell because she’d spent such a long time with her family.  They were familiar to her. Hector was not.

 

Suddenly, soft music filled the room.  Imelda turned to Rosita, who was adjusting the radio antenna to pick up on the station better.  The melodic sound of an old folk song drafted into the air, and Imelda felt her shoulders relax slightly.  
  


“Don’t think too hard Imelda,” said Rosita softly,  “But don’t be brash either. Listen to your heart,”

 

Imelda snorted, despite herself.  “That sounds like the tagline to one of your silly romantic novels,”  
  


Rosita laughed softly as well.  “True. It seems fitting for right now though,” she said.  “And yes, my books are silly and fantastical. But love isn’t, romance isn’t.  Give yourself another chance, Mama Imelda,”  
  


There’s a beat of silence in the air, only slightly filled by the crooning of a folk singer.  
  


“I don’t know what you’re talking about,”  said Imelda, throat suddenly full of emotion.  
  


Rosita smiled softly.  “That’s okay. Just...consider your own feelings Imelda.  Don’t punish the both of you for something that happened almost a century ago,”  
  


Rosita turned to leave, but suddenly, Imelda felt herself stand.  “Wait,” she said. Rosita faced her again, looking inquisitive. “Can...Can you help me get ready?  For this Saturday?” she asked softly.  
  


Rosita smiled and nodded.  And with that, Rosita left Imelda to her thoughts.

____________________________________________________________________________

  
  


Over the course of the week, Imelda and Hector worked together to help teach Victoria more dances, and to practice the moves she’d already come to learn.  However, something had changed. One was that Hector could easily move now, and actually insisted on taking turns to dance with Victoria. The more upsetting change was that Hector was more reserved around Imelda. He held his tongue, and little pet names no longer mistakenly slipped off his tongue.  He made sure that the songs he played were ones he hadn’t composed. He no longer threw jokes out carelessly.  
  


Imelda was made excruciatingly aware of how uncomfortable he was around her now about two days before Saturday, when he sat in the workshop as Imelda worked.  The radio station of classic hits they’d been listening too suddenly started to play an De La Cruz song, though Imelda recognized the song from early on in her pregnancy, when Hector was full of happiness and music and was always reaching for something to write with.  
  


“ _A feeling so close, you could reach out and touch it-”_  
  


Hector had jumped from his seat and scrambled to turn the radio off, slamming his hand down onto the power button.  
  


“ _Lo Siento,”_ he laughed nervously, but his eyes looked sad.  
  


Imelda had always loved that song.  She remembered slow dancing with Hector in their kitchen, him whispering the words into her ear while she hummed the music into his, her stomach large in between them.  
  


“It’s fine,” she had replied, and then she had slunk out of the room with some flimsy excuse.  
  


Now she sat in her armchair while Hector twirled Victoria around, holding the radio in her lap, pretending to read the back of a CD case.  Rosita sat beside her, clapping along to the beat and cheering the two on.

 

“You’ve really got them hang of it, Victoria!” Rosita said as Victoria sat down to take a break.  
  


“ _Gracias Tia,”_ she said happily, massaging her feet.  
  


“I think you’ve learned all there is to know,”  Rosita continue to say.  
  


“Well...there is one more thing I want to learn,” she said hesitantly.  “I want to learn how to dance to boleros,”  
  


“ _Mija_ , that’s so simple,”  said Hector. “Much easier than others.  It’s just slow dancing to ¾.”  
  


Victoria bit her lip, looking to her grandmother.  “I..I want to learn some more complicated moves,”  
  


Hector scratched his head.  “I mean, I guess there’s no harm in some fancier turns,”  he reasoned.  
  


Imelda went to pick a CD and found a CD of forgotten boleros.  She slid it into the player and started a tune. The voice of a crooning woman started to play, accompanied by the classical guitar.  Hector held out his arms, and Victoria took them.  
  


“Make sure you keep your arms strong,”  said Hector. “I’ll be pulling you in and out alot, and if your arms are flimsy you’ll be unsteady,”

 

Victoria nodded and first they started with the steps.  It started out okay, and Victoria had it down pat quite quickly.  
  


But then Hector started spinning Victoria around and very quickly the dance started to fall apart.  Victoria’s arms quickly lost their form, and she started to move offbeat. Hector quickly moved to try and fix it, telling Victoria what was about to come next.  However, soon Victoria gave up.  
  


“Maybe I just need to see it,” Victoria mused.  “I saw a couple dancing in the street when I went shopping with _Tia Rosita_ yesterday, and it looked so much more simple,”

 

“I remember seeing those two,” Rosita agreed.  “I think they were professionals though,”  
  


“You could also just be tired, _mija_ , because it’s odd you wouldn’t get a dance as simple and slow as this one”  added Imelda thoughtfully. “You’ve been dancing non-stop all week,”  
  


Victoria’s face moved into something unreadable.  “I still think that if I were to see it again, I could do it,”  
  


Rosita’s face also moved into something readable.  “You’ve always been a visual learner,” she commented absentmindedly.  
  


Hector scratched his head.  “Okay then. Rosita, would you do the honours?”  
  


“Oh no, I can’t dance to save my life,” giggled Rosita.  
  


Imelda suddenly realized what the two were up to and cursed silently.  
  


“Oh, I never would’ve guessed,” commented Hector.  “You look like you’d be a good dancer,”  
  


“Guess that just leaves _Mama_ Imelda _,”_  Rosita comments quickly. “... _Gracias_ Hector,” she adds as an afterthought.  
  


“O-oh, I-I’m sure it..I mean, you don’t, unless you want-”  Hector babbled.  
  


“Fine,” Imelda cut in.  She stood from where she’s sitting and handed Victoria the radio.

 

Hector stood still, unsure of what to.  Imelda huffed and took his hands within her own.  “At least pretend you want to dance with me,” She snapped. _To touch me, to hold me,_ she didn’t say.  He stuttered and moved to grab her hand more firmly. She moved into position, placing one hand delicately on his shoulder.  It’s much closer to his neck then it needed to be, and she could almost feel his soft hairs.  
  


Hector moved his other hand to Imelda’s waist.  It was quite high on her torso, right in between her breasts and her hips.  When they used to dance, nobody watching, just the two of them, Hector’s hand had always rested comfortably on her hip, and sometimes it would wrap entirely around her, holding her close and pulling her into his own body.  
  


Imelda could feel herself flush, at both the overwhelming memories of intimacy and at the eyes of her family watching her.  
  


The music finally picked up, and Imelda found herself having to pull Hector along with her to move to the beat.  Her stumbled to catch up with her steps.

 

 _Slow.  Quick, quick, slow.  Quick Quick, slow,_ she repeated to herself in her head, looking at her sliding feet.  “Victoria, you see how on the slow step, I slide my foot along the floor?”  
  


Victoria made a humming noise from where she sits, and Imelda feels grounded in the fact that she’s doing the for Victoria.  How Hector is doing this for Victoria. How Imelda is dancing with Hector so that Victoria can learn, and the only reason Hector is dancing with her, is touching her, is because of Victoria.  
  


“Spin me out,” she said to Hector, and he he obliged, turning her around and going to catch her hand within his, and Imelda remembered how thrilling it was to dance.  How it made her heart skip a beat, how _intimate_ , everything was, with him holding onto the both of her hands so gently.  
  


“Again,” she choked out.  He turned her again, and this time she kept her hold of his hand.  They stood facing each other, their arms making a figure eight around them and they circled each other with their steps.  Imelda’s eyes met Hector’s for the first time since they started dancing, and Imelda swore she could feel that spark within her going crazy.  
  


“Twice now,”  she whispered.  “Hold me,”  
  


Hector spun her hand around twice in the other direction and then she was nestled into his side, her arms crossed in front of her, each hand within his.  They moved side to side and spin, and this time they don’t take their eyes off of each other.  
  


Imelda didn’t even need to say anything, Hector just let go of her one hand and stepped back, and Imelda spun out and stretched outward and away from him.  They were only connected by the one hand now, but still Imelda hadn’t looked away, and neither did he.  
  


Imelda turns back into his and he holds her once more.  His hand had now shifted to the small of her back and Imelda was hyper aware of his everything.  They moved together in sync, before he took her hand again moved it over his head, having her move behind him in a spin.  
  


After she’d crossed over, she leant back and they were once again stretched out far from each other, only connected by their joint hand.  Hector pulled her in and now his arm was firmly against her back, her arm around his back. Their chest pressed close together and Imelda prayed to God he wouldn’t hear how fast her heart was beating.  
  


They paused for a second before he bent his knees, and Imelda knew after years of dancing with him that he meant to dip her.  She obliged, tilting her head back until the only thing protecting her from falling over and onto the ground was his firm grip on her.  The trust she had in him in that moment, well...it was magical.  
  


He brought her back up and they continued to move their feet.  Imelda was vaguely aware of how little her steps had become, how less purposeful and techinical they were compared to when they first started to dance.  
  


Hector moved outwards slightly, their chests no longer touching.  His hand on her back moved to her other hand, and he moved to spin her again.  First they were in the figure eight position, but Hector paused for only a moment, continuing to move her until arms out and their backs were almost touching.  Then he brought her one hand over his head and they were in the figure eight position again, this time opposite hands. He had spun her entirely around him.  
  


Hector let go of her one hand then turned Imelda twice until they were hand in hand once again, and Imelda’s breath was now permanently stuck in her throat.  She hoped he hadn’t realised how sweaty her palms had become.  
  


His hand shifted once more to her back, holding her close to his chest once more.  Imelda’s arm had become loose and the hand softon his shoulder, and though that wasn’t good for elaborate dance and turns, it was excellent for allowing him to pull her even closer than possibly thought.  
  


Their faces had become near now, Imelda’s forehead rested dangerously close to Hector cheek and she thought, _if I turn my head just a bit, we could be cheek to cheek.  Or I could lean forward just a bit and rest my head on his shoulder.  Or I could tilt my chin and our lips would be so so close and-_  
  


The music faded to a stop, but Hector and Imelda were still close.  “Wow,” breathed Rosita from her seat, and Imelda was brought to the sudden realization that they had an audience.    
  


Imelda hurriedly stepped back from him, and he did the same, mirroring her actions.  She looked to the two women, a bit breathless, and gave them a nod. “That’s generally it,”  she explained awkwardly. “I mean, there’s probably more, but that’s all I know,” she finished lamely.  
  


“It’s better than I remember,”  said a voice from the doorway and Imelda’s head snapped to find her two twin hermanos each leaning against the frame, arms crossed and both wearing smirks.  This smirks weren’t malicious or mischievous though, a look she was much too familiar with. No, this smirk was a satisfied smirk, the smirk of a bird who’d finally caught and enjoyed their prized canary.  
  


Julio also stood in the doorway, though he said nothing.  His hat was lowered and in his hands, and he held it in front of his chest in awe.  He looked somewhat tearful.

“Guess we still got it,” Hector laughed nervously, suddenly shy in front of the family.

 

“Seems so,”  Imelda responded softly, though she was fighting every urge she had to flee the room, to make up some believable excuse and hide out in her room with her feelings.  
  


“Julio, what’s wrong?”  asked Rosita from her spot, sitting up when she saw that teary look on his face.  
  


“Nothing, nothing.  Just...ay, I remember dancing with Coco when we were young,”  he commented wistfully. He looked hesitant at Imelda from the side of his eye.  “It was before we were married, though,” he said reassuringly. “We didn’t dance...much… after we were wed,”  
  


Imelda frowns slightly, tucking her chin into her chest.  Her happiest memories were of dancing with Hector in their home.  She’s realized suddenly that, Julio and Coco had been deprived of so much because of her.  “I’m sorry,” she said. She then looked up, determined and sticking her chin out. “We’ll be able to make up the lost time on Saturday.  All of us,”  
  


The twins gave each other nervous looks.  “Imelda, you both know we can’t dance,” Oscar said, Filipe nodding behind him.  
  


“Then it looks like you’ve both a lot of practice to do,”  she retorted.  
  


Rosita giggled and Victoria pressed play and soon the family were all practicing dancing with one another and Imelda and Hector didn’t dance with each other again for the rest of the night.

____________________________________________________________________________

  
  


Hector stared at himself in the mirror and felt very very nervous for the evening that lay ahead of him this evening.  
  


He had tried to smooth down his hair, to now avail.  He supposed he would just be wearing his straw hat anyways and refused to touch it anymore.  
  


His suit was a _charro_ suit, which Hector was very familiar with.  It was a handsome midnight blue with gold embellished, and Hector took the time to appreciate how colour contrasted against his white bones.  He still thought, however, if he were still alive, it would be much less stark against his brown skin. It cut nicely against his frame, and if Hector squinted his eyes just right, he could pretend he was still alive.

 

There wasn’t really any use pretending.  He had been dead much longer than he’d been alive, and he was comfortable as a dead man, now that he had a family and he was being remembered.    
  


His shoes…

 

He wasn’t used to wearing shoes.  They were comfortably snug around his feet, and he could see that there was some obvious care put into them, in their swirling designs against the black leather.    
  


He thought, no he  _knew_ he loved them, they way they shined and the way they were _his_ and _made for him_.

 

He smoothed down his suit for what seemed like the fiftieth time, and tugged at his vest for what seemed like the sixtieth.  There wasn’t any use obsessing over his appearance anymore, and if he continued to scrutinize himself in the mirror he was going to go crazy.  
  


He left his room and headed downstairs, finding the living room empty.  He sunk into what had at this point been designated as “his chair.” It was a comfortable chair, sure, but now that Hector could move about freely without being hinderanced, he didn’t want to spend another minute sitting.  Unfortunately, his nerves were making his stomach hurt, and sitting was the only way he felt comfortable.  
  


His hands were sweaty.  They shouldn’t be, considering he was a skeleton, but his sheer nervousness broke the laws of physics, apparently.  They’d been sweaty when he danced with Imelda two days ago as well.  
  


He remembered the magnetic charge in the air between them, how easily she fit into his arm.  
  


He sighed, folding over to place his head in his hands.  All of this was so bad for his already too hopeful heart.  
  


The sound of a throat being cleared came from the doorway.  Hector looked up to see a very prettily dressed up Imelda.  
  


Imelda’s hair, instead of it’s low updo, was in a long braid propped over one shoulder.  A few red flowers were tucked in behind her ear. Her dress was a long, off the shoulder dress, which was a dark midnight blue.  Hector blushed, realising that their outfits matched.  
  


Imelda looked frustrated.  “Rosita did this so me,” she said.  She hasn’t looked Hector in the eye once since she’s come downstairs.  
  


“You...you look good,” Hector finally quipped with a half smile.  Imelda lowered her eyes even more, scoffing.  
  


“This doesn’t suit me,” she huffed, grabbing her wrist, uncertain.  “I’m not young anymore,”  
  


“No,” said Hector.  “You’re not. That’s what makes it so much more charming,”  
  


Imelda reacted to that, tensing slightly.  “Are you mocking me?” she asked harshly.

 

“No, never” said Hector.  “Your age...it shows that you lived,” he said softly.  
  


Imelda looks at Hector, eyes bright.  There’s a moment of comfortable silence in the room, and Hector is relieved.  It’s so much better than the tension that had been between them for the last few days.  “Thank you,” she said softly, and Hector nods.  
  


They wait in silence for the rest of the family before heading off.  Victoria’s hair was done in a braided updo, while Rosita’s laid curled down her back.  Both of the women wore bright, festive colours. Oscar and Felipe were both dressed in fine button up shirts, matching in every way.  Julio also wore a button up, a dark grey shirt which had topped with a deep red tie and a fancy sombrero.  
  


Oscar offered Hector a happy smile before they headed off together.  “We’ve barely had any reason to get all dressed up,” he explained. “I think everyone is excited.  I don’t think I’ve done this since your wedding,”  
  


“Ay, that was so long ago,” Hector chided.  “You were what, 12? 13?”

 

“Sounds about right,” chimed in Felipe.  “We never did quite get the whole dancing thing down,”  
  


“Speak for yourself,” Oscar quipped.  “I think I’m pretty much a master at this point,”  
  


Hector and Felipe both laughed, and Oscar shoved his brother into his brother in law.  “No need to be rude,” he huffed with a smile.  
  


The family all walked out and made their way down the street.  Everybody’s dance shoes clicked against the stone path, and Hector had to resist stomping out a rhythm there and then.  
  


Soon they arrived at Mariachi Plaza, renamed from Plaza De la Cruz.  Hector recalls about Julio telling him about how, apparently while he was still sleeping, the town officials had approached the family and asked them if they wanted the Plaza to be called Rivera in lieu of De La Cruz.  Apparently, Imelda had snapped at them, crying “It doesn’t matter to us,”  
  


Given that Hector was still unconscious, they went with the stand in name of Mariachi Plaza, and Hector supposed it would stay that way, for a while at least.  Maybe they would change it when another famous person dies.  
  


The Plaza was already bustling with people when they arrived, but the first band had yet to finish setting up.  There were vendors situated nearby, selling food and drinks. The lights were bright, preparing for when the sun would set in about an hour.  
  


“Looks lively,” commented Rosita.

 

“Yes,”  said Victoria, but she was distracted by the crowd.  She crooned up her head, seemingly searching for someone.  
  


_Oh right_ , thought Hector.  The whole reason this had happened.  Victoria was going to go on a date. “The music hasn’t started yet, let’s go check out the food,”  he said purposefully. Everyone turned to look at the vendors, and Hector quietly shooed Victoria away, offering her a smile and a wink.  Victoria flashed Hector a grateful look before disappearing amongst the throng of people.

 

Hector head over to the food trucks with the rest of the family.  He bought a plate of tamales, while each twin bought a chorizo, to Hector’s annoyance.   Imelda bought nothing, lips pursed as she quietly observed her surroundings.  
  


Rosita and Julio, having head over to another truck to buy some drinks, walked back over to join the rest of the family, who had set up their stuff on a table skirting the dance floor.  “Hey , _queda Victoria_?” asked Rosita, curiously, holding onto a large bottle of rum.  
  


“Nevermind that, what in the world have you gotten?” asked Hector incredulously.

 

Rosita grinned and held up the bottle, which was a nice translucent green.  “Since we’re here, might as well have some fun,” she giggled. “It’s been so long since I’ve let loose,”  
  


The entire family stared at her, dumbfounded.  Julio only rolled his eyes. “Oy, don’t go too crazy tonight,” he said warningly.

 

Rosita pouted, one hand on her hip.  “Who do you think I am? I’m the best at handling my liqueur,”  
  


Suddenly, a trumpeting sound was heard from the stage, and soon the others instruments went to join in a jaunty tune.  
  


“ _Epa!_  They’re starting!” said Rosita excitedly.  She placed her bottle on grabbed Felipe by the hand, dragging him to the dance floor.  “Come on _Tio_ , dance with me!”    
  


“ _Oye! No se como bailer!”_ He called as Rosita pulled him out of sight.  
  


“Oh, Julio, let’s go look at that over there,”  said Oscar flatly. Julio shot Hector an apologetic look, before he allowed Oscar to drag him elsewhere.  
  


And then it was only Hector and Imelda.

 

Imelda fidgeted with the lace hem on her off shoulder dress.  Hector looked at her and remembered a time where she wore a dress similar in colour.  They were shopping together in the marketplace, and eventually they settled on a hillside and had a picnic.  
  


They’d been married for about a month and a bit now, but Hector had never bought her a ring, until last week when a vendor came into town and Hector finally had enough money to buy them a pair.  
  


She had been so happy then.  Now, however, she looked nervous and uncomfortable.  She reached over the table and took a swig of Rosita’s Xiabetun Rum.  
  


Hector looked towards the dance floor.  Rosita was swinging Felipe around, and Oscar and Julio where standing to the side, having a low conversation.  Hector couldn't find Victoria anywhere.

 

He started humming along to the music absentmindedly.  He knew this song, though he’d only heard it a good ten years after he’d died.

 

He turned to Imelda, nervous smile.  “Do you...want to dance?”  
  


Imelda looked at the ground.  “Not now, _por favor._  Ask me later,”  
  


Hector clammed up and looked away, hand moving to clutch his arm uncertainly.  
  


The next song strummed up, and this time Imelda knew the words, surprisingly  
  


“ _Solitaria camina la bikina,_  
  


 

_La gente se pone a mururar,”_

  
  


She muttered the lyrics under her breath, her low melodic voice hitting Hector’s ears with such grace.  
  


Hector felt his heart flutter.  Imelda had always had such a nice singing voice, a low alto.  He remembered a time, after they’d become tentative friends in their youth, and he asked her why she never liked to sing in front of her.  She’d flushed and said that her voice was too low compared to other girls, and she could never hit the high notes.  
  


Hector had composed a song just for her to sing, all the notes well within her range.  
  


“Imelda…”  he started softly.  She suddenly went for another swig of the rum.  
  


“You’re just going to pester me until you get what you want, won’t you?”  she muttered. “Okay _Calaca,_ let’s go,”  she said, holding out her hand.  
  


Hector grabbed it firmly with his own, and soon they were twirling on the dance floor.  They kept a respectable distance from each other, and Hector made sure to keep his hand high on her side.  Imelda still seemed to frown however, her grip tightening on his shoulder.  
  


The song ended much too fast, and Imelda separated herself from him. “There, you’ve had your dance,”  she scowled. “Now, go dance with somebody else. There are plenty of young girls here for you to sweep away,”  
  


“But Imelda,” started Hector, but she swished away from him, heading back to their table.  
  


Hector went to nurse his pride near the stage, watching the musicians play.  He remembered what it was like to be on stage, how anxious he was every single time.  He loved to play, he adored watching everybody enjoy the music he gave them, but he remembered Ernesto being much more enthusiastic in his public performances than he.  
  


He sighed, watching the Mariachi perform.  How it all had went so wrong so fast.  
  


After a few more songs, they switched out with another band.  They started off with a slower paced song.

 

“ _Amanecí otra vez_

  
  


_entre tus brazos,_

  
  


_y desperté llorando_

  
  


_de alegría_ ,”

  
  


Hector smiled at the lyrics.  He also remembered waking up in Imelda’s arms.  Their mattress was always smaller than most, so they often had to hold on tightly to one another to avoid falling off.  He had woken up so often on the floor, and Imelda on the bed with all the covers wrapped around her. It was only on blissful mornings where Hector would wake before Imelda and she’d still be fast asleep, clutching onto him.  
  


He looked to the table, and Imelda looked upset.  She sat, hands in her lap, and stared at her fingers.  
  


Hector felt a lump in his throat and made his way over to her.  She looked up at him, her eyes forlorn and slightly misty.  
  


“Imelda...dance with me, _por favor_?” He said, gently taking her hand in his.  
  


This time, she didn’t even say anything, and just let herself be lead towards the dance floor.  The next song was a tad bit faster, so Hector had so many excused to twirl her around fast, admiring the way her braid swished around.  She seemed slightly happier, clutching to his hand.  
  


This song, too, came to an end.  But this time, Imelda did not let go.  So they danced for another, moving quickly to the beat, _Chun ta ta, Chun ta ta._  
  


The next song, the next song was...The next song was a familiar one.  Much too familiar. Hector had written it, he had written it for Imelda.  
  


He froze as couples around them took to the quick paced tune, laughing and clapping to the fast paced beat.  Everyone had probably forgotten this song to be “Ernesto’s”  
  


Hector tried to gently pull away from Imelda, but she held on fast.  “What’s this?” she said slowly, and Hector was suddenly aware that she was...a little tipsy.  She could never quite handle her liqueur. “This song is going too fast,” she grumbled. “You wrote it slow, like this,”  
  


Imelda started swaying from side to side, stepping slightly.  She took Hector’s hands and moved them to her lower back. “Hold me,”  she whispered, and _Dios_ , Hector could never say no to her.  
  


They danced slowly in the middle of the dance floor, while everybody moved quickly around them.  Hector held Imelda close, circling her with slow, purposeful steps.  
  


Imelda leaned in closer, and then she was smiling at him.  No, she was _grinning_.   _Beaming._  “I like this song, “ she said.  “ _Gracias, mi amor,”_  
  


“ _De nada_ ,”  whispered Hector, that lump having returned, and then he moved to twirl her.  
  


The song ended.  Imelda pulled away.  “My feet are starting to hurt a bit,”  she confessed, and she grabbed Hector by the arm, holding it close, and dragged him back to the table.  “Why aren’t you playing tonight?”

 

“Huh?” asked Hector, confused.  “What do you mean?”

 

Imelda frowned.  “You always play at these things,”  she huffed. “Where is Ernesto?”  
  


Hector slowly sat her down.  “He is...not here,” he said softly.  
  


“Oh,” said Imelda.  She went for another drink, but Hector quickly pulled it away from her.  
  


“No no, _mi vida_ , I think you’ve had enough for now,”  
  


Imelda glared at him.  Hector offered her a smile and as shrug, and soon she was smiling at him too.  “You’re always trying to take care of me,” she huffed with a smile, the words coming out and tender and goofy.

 

“I guess I am,” he said, and she grabbed his hand, squeezing it in her own.

 

“That’s okay.  I like it,” she giggled.    
  


They sat in a comfortable silence for a bit, just enjoying the music and the atmosphere.  Imelda’s hand was warm, and her thumb traced circles around the top of his hand.  
  


Julio came back to the table after some time.  “I can’t find Victoria,” he confessed. “I wanted to dance with her,”  
  


“She’s probably around,” said Hector nonchalantly.    
  


Imelda turned to Hector, slightly drunk.  “Hey, didn’t we teach her for a date?”

 

Hector grimaced as Julio’s eyebrows shot up into his hat.  “A D-d-d-d-date?”  
  


Imelda laughed.  “Yes, a date!”  
  


“Okay, Imelda, let’s go dance some more,” Hector said hurriedly, going to drag her from her seat and onto the dance floor.  
  


“‘Kay,” she said happily, waving goodbye to Julio and following her husband onto the dance floor.

 

A new band was up on the stage, and they were playing a slow bolero.  Imelda held Hector close, one hand on his shoulder, her cheek pressed close against his.  
  


Hector thought he caught a glimpse of Victoria’s dress, but he wasn't’ sure.  He was pretty distracted by Imelda humming in his ear. It wasn’t the song playing, but she continued to hum a tune of her own.

 

“Hold me,” she whispered into his ear, and Hector spun her twice until she was nestled in his side, an action reminiscent of two days ago.  Though she was much more poised in his arms then. Now, she was fully slumped against him, letting him fully hold him. She seemed happy.

 

He continued to spin her, her smile enchanting every single time she flashed it his way.  The song quickly came to an end, and Imelda took Hector’s hand and guided him off the dance floor again.  
  


“Hector...I’m tired,” she said softly.  “Let’s go home,”

 

“Well, everybody is still dancing,” Hector said.

 

Rosita waved them over from her seat at the table, holding onto the bottle.  “Hello you two,” she giggled.

 

“ _Hola,”_ said Imelda with a goofy grin.    
  


Rosita laughed.  “I guess I know where half of this went now,” she said.  
  


Imelda reached for the bottle again, and before Hector could protest Rosita had already given it to her and she had already taken another gulp.  
  


Hector sighed. “I think I’m going to take Imelda home,”  he said.  
  


“Okay!  We’ll keep an eye on _Victoria and her date_ ,” Rosita giggled playfully in a sing-song voice and winked.  
  


Hector sighed again.  Well, there was no fixing that.  Sorry Victoria.

 

Hector took Imelda by the hand.  “Come on,” he said softly, and she allowed herself to be led out of the party.  
  


They walked for a bit, Imelda stumbling over the cobstones every so often.  Hector wished, for the first time maybe ever, that Peptia was around to take them home.  No matter, they were only a few blocks away anyways. He pulled Imelda a bit closer, and looked down to make sure she wouldn’t trip and fall.  
  


Imelda looked down at Hector’s shoes.  “I made those!” She said happily, and Hector’s heart jumped.  She looked up at him, eyes bright. “Do you like them?”  
  


Hector looked down at her.  “They’re perfect,” he said, and Imelda nodded, satisfied.  
  


“Good,” she said.  
  


Soon they reached the house, and Hector stepped through the doorway.  As soon as he closed the door behind them, Imelda grabbed onto his hand.  “Come on,” she giggled, and she pulled him behind her, all the way upstairs.

 

They reach her room and she pulls him in, closing the door behind her.  She pulls onto his jacket lapels and presses her forehead to his.  
  


“Is Coco asleep?” she whispers softly.  Hector can smell the alcohol on her breath.  
  


“No, _mi amor_ , this isn’t-” he starts, choking up.  
  


She kissed his cheek softly, and Hector’s stomach heats up.  The kisses travel to his jawline, her hands flattening on his chest.  He closes his eyes and feels her caress him.

 

She went to kiss his nose, only to find it isn’t there.  She giggled. “Hey, where’s that big nose of yours?” she asks jokingly.

 

Hector is shaking as he grabs onto her wrist.  “Imelda, we can’t,”

 

“Why not?” She moved closer to him, pressing up against him, her arms coming up to softly remove his hat.

 

“You don’t want to,”  
  


“I do,”  her hands ended up entangled in his hair.  
  


“You’ll regret it,”  he said desperately.  
  


She froze on the spot.  Her hands were still in his hair, but now she pressed her forehead into his chest.  “You don’t want me,” she said softly.  
  


“No, that’s not true _mi amor_ ,”

 

“Is it someone else?” she asked tearfully.  “Do you not love me anymore?”  
  


“Never, I would never stop loving you,” Hector said, his heart dropping into his stomach,  He pulls away from her and goes onto his knees, looking up at her teary face. “I never stopped loving you,”

 

Imelda started to cry, big fat tears streaming down her face.  “Then why did you leave?”

 

“ _No llores, por favor_ Imelda, I never should have,”  
  


“You still did,” she said accusingly, and she moved to her bed, sitting down on the covers.  “I asked you to stay and you still left.”  
  


“ _Lo siento_ ,”  
  


“Why wasn’t I enough for you?  Why wasn’t _nuestra familia_ enough for you?”

 

“It was, it was.  I was happy. I didn’t realize until after I was gone, it’s all my fault” Hector babbled.

 

Imelda sniffled.  She grabbed the flowers out of her hair miserably and let them fall to the floor.  “Was it something I did?” she whispered.

 

“ _Never,”_

 

Imelda looked up to Hector, teary eyed.  “Hold me?”  
  


Hector could never say no to her.  He moved to the bed and lay down beside her.  The bed was quite bigger than their old one, so there was enough space between them to hold hands.  
  


Imelda’s eyelashes were still wet with tears, they shone in the moonlight that streamed in through the window.  
  


“Imelda, I can’t stay here with you,” said Hector slowly.  “It isn’t my place,””  
  


Imelda tightened her grip.  “ _Stay_ ,” she whispered. “ _Por favor, stay.  Don’t leave me again,”_  
  


Hector kisses her forehead.  “As long as you’ll have me, I’ll never leave.”  
  


“I’ll always want you,”

 

Hector hesitated.  “Imelda...If by morning, you change your mind, please let me stay with your family.”

 

Imelda blinked.  “They’re your family too,” she said.  “I can’t keep you from them, nobody can,”  
  


Hector smiled, closing his eyes.  Imelda continued to hold his hand, and together they fell asleep.  
  


____________________________________________________________________________

  
  


Hector was lying with her.

 

No, he wasn’t.  But it felt so real this time.  
  


Imelda could still feel her dream around her as she slowly came to consciousness.  The bed was warm, and his arms were around her, hers around him. Her face was pressed into his chest, her head tucked under his chin, and she could feel his every breath.  
  


_Please stay a little longer_ , she asked her cruel dream.   _Please don’t let me wake up just yet._

 

Imelda was constantly plagued with dreams like this over the course of her life.  Always dreaming of him, only waking up to find the bed cold and lonely.

 

She closed her eyes tighter, willing herself to go back to bed.  She tightened her hold around him.

 

Wait… That was solid.

 

Imelda’s eyes shot open.  She found her face buried in a midnight blue mariachi suit, and she looked up to see the slumbering skeleton, softly snoring.

 

Imelda’s first thought was to push him out of the bed.  Not maliciously, she’d done this often when they slept in the same bed, then Hector would wake up on the floor and they’d both pretend they didn’t know she did it on purpose.  Then she remembered they weren’t playful newly weds anymore, and she didn’t know if this would ever happen again.  
  


Still holding onto him, she quietly watched him, eyes tracing over his skeletal markings over and over again, committing them to memory.

 

Slowly, as the rays of the sun streamed through the curtains and a far off rooster crooned into the air, Hector came to.

 

He blinked warily at his wife, smiling at her, and she him.

 

His mind still foggy with sleep, he leaned in to plant a kiss on her forehead.  “Didn’t kick me out this time, hm?”

 

“Not this time,” she said softly.

 

Hector looked down and suddenly realized where he was.  He looked slowly to Imelda, while she looked at him.

 

Hector took a shaky breath.  “Imelda...what do you want? Tell me, please,”

 

Imelda closed her eyes.  “ _Quedarse,”_

 

Hector sighed.  “Do you permit it?”

 

Imelda smiled.  “I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life, _mi amor_ ,”

 

She leaned forward and pressed her lips softly to his, and it was like nothing had changed at all.  
  


But of course everything had changed.  It had changed for the better.  
  


Hector held Imelda close.  And with their arms around each other, they both lay in bed until the day demanded they rise, and when that time came, they rose together.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey Willow. Literally don't talk to me. ;^)
> 
> Thank you for reading this! It wasn't supposed to be so long, haha. This is my first fic, so if it's not good, that's because it's bad.
> 
> Victoria's date is ambiguous because I didn't want to go into that too much. This fic was heavily inspired by "Like Gentle Refrain," where Victoria had a male love interest, but I'm still in love with lesbian icon Victoria.
> 
> I'm happy I finally finished this on Dias de Muertos. I'm not Mexican myself, so if I butcher the spanish, that's why.
> 
> This is what I imagined Imelda and Hector's dancing to be like, with less leaning and professionalism though:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3jpRaua4srM
> 
> Once again, thanks for reading. Comment any typos you catch or whatever.
> 
> Additional songs used:
> 
> La Bikina
> 
> Amanecí En Tus brazos


End file.
